The Universe is Spinning
by Jasperfectly delicious
Summary: Quiet Jasper Whitlock is just trying to survive his senior year at Forks High, but that might be tough when he's constantly feeling the orbital pull from HIM. J/E SLASH. AH


**Title: **

**Disclaimer:** I don't own twilight…duh, Stephenie Meyer does, and I'll have to check my credit card statement to see if I actually even own the computer on which I wrote this story yet.

**WARNING: **There will be lovin', and it's boy lovin' at that. If you don't like that sort of thing then I suggest you stop right here. No, see, now you're still reading aren't you? Sheesh, don't say I didn't warn you. This story is not appropriate for anyone under 18.

**A/N: **I do not have a beta since I am still uncertain that my request to do so would not result in a resounding page after page of "Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha…" You get the point; so all errors are my own and are the direct result of daydreaming when learning grammar should have been happening.

This is my first fanfiction, so be gentle and aim for the body with the rotten fruit.

**JPOV**

12:04 PM. Here we go again. It's the same thing every day. We plebeians of Forks High, better known as the student body, sit in the cafeteria going through the motions …while we wait.

The underclassmen all sit at their tables on the periphery of the room like roman spectators that fear getting too close to the action of the gladiators. There is a circular step down area in the center of the room, a remnant from some sixties era architectural redesign of the school, known as the "senior pit". It seems that even in the equality minded sixties, seniors still needed to be attention grabbing superior assholes.

Even within the pit there is a hierarchy. At the very nucleus of the Forks universe are the tables of the beautiful people. The cheerleaders are at their table using battery powered curling irons and casting side-long glances at each other to compare their hotness levels today while plastering on fake smiles and lying to each other about how hot they look; all the while smiling inwardly about how they really are the hottest one. The half populated jock table is sitting at the ready, places being held by the lesser blessed in the hopes of gaining entrance to the inner circle.

The clock ticks to the next minute and the cacophony of conversations dims ever so slightly as all eyes turn either blatantly or covertly to the entrance doors. At my table, positioned on the outer rim of the pit, Eric pauses in his monologue about his awesome plans for the weekend making Latin flashcards, as he and the other occupants of my table crane their necks to join in the gawking anticipation.

I take a deep sigh as I begin my daily inner battle. I will not look, I will not look, I will not look…I have to look, I have to look, I have to look…I hate myself for looking, I hate myself for looking, I hate myself for looking.

It's not that I'm bitter, or angry, or jealous. And it is most certainly not that I'm intrigued, or entranced, or mesmerized, or obsessed… or gay. Well, okay maybe the gay thing, but not the rest damn it! I tell myself that it's just the future historian in me observing and recording this phenomenon of popularity induced worship-uh yeah, that's it.

There is a muffled sound of chatter and laughter from the hallway as the doors swing open and the Forks high demi-gods enter their realm. They head with purpose to their domain and as they pass each table they bestow the occasional hello or condescending smile upon the random onlooker, thereby temporarily elevating the recipient's own status just by virtue of being acknowledged. It fascinates and sickens me at the same time. I start to feel that familiar burn of indignation and excitement in my stomach as the group draws closer. The irony that my own twin sister is one of them is not lost on me.

As they enter my peripheral vision I feel the inexplicable pull of him. HE is, of course, at the center; the bronze sun with his satellites orbiting around him: Edward fucking Cullen; the god of Forks High. He is so beautiful it almost hurts to look at him. He has burnished coppery hair whose color borders on burnt embers as though it too is affected by his core. It always looks like he just got out of a bed where he was doing all sorts of things that didn't involve sleeping. His body is lean, graceful, muscled and perfectly toned. His face is the picture of masculine beauty with features that seem purposely chiseled by divine design rather than haphazardly occurring by genetics. I rarely get to study it as long as I would like. He is captain and point guard of the championship basketball team, and apparently colleges are lining up to give him scholarships. He is the star of every girl's fantasies and I'm pretty sure half the boys (well at least one boy anyway). It seems none of the girls at Forks are good enough for him, though there is a rumor about a college girl named Tanya that just adds to his mystique. I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't have the cure for cancer and is just waiting for a down time to whip it out. Many say he is cool but cordial though I wouldn't know, since he has never spoken a word to me in the five months I have been at this school.

As the group floats to their table and takes their habitual seats, the room exhales the collective breath they were holding and resume their buzzing conversations. I chance the look over that I know I can't control, and meet the familiar flash of brilliant green; an intense, penetrating look that I can only ever hold briefly before I have to look away, enflamed by my fucking stupid blush that threatens to consume me until I combust. I decide that you really can't look at the sun too long.

As many times as we repeat this ritual, and I'm forced to look away, you would think I would have had my fill of his scornful looks, but I can never seem to get enough; like a moth drawn to a flame that it just watched incinerate its friends and family. I also decide that moths are stupid fuckers. I puzzle once again as to why he so vehemently dislikes me. Why does he stare and never speak? Could he suspect or worse yet… know? I dig past the hurt to find the anger that soothes me. He really is an elitist asshole; albeit, a beautiful, elitist asshole.

As my cheeks cool, and I remember to breathe myself, I look slightly past him and take refuge in the feminine mirror of my reflection that is Rosalie. She saw the exchange and gives me a subtle wave and brief smile before turning and whispering to her boyfriend Emmett. As far as huge muscle bound missing link like behemoths go, Emmett is a pretty nice guy. He has adored Rosalie since we moved here in the summer before senior year, and I'm glad that she is so happy.

Rose and Emmett both wish I would talk to them more at school and they even offered to sit with me at lunch, but I refused. Not that I would have been welcome anyway, as long as HE was there. I don't want the added complications and tension. Since my dad was transferred here right before our senior year, I resolved to survive this year before my real life can begin. I came out to my family during my junior year and even had a boyfriend, Peter. I was lucky that my family accepted me and most of my friends stood by me. My close friends here know as well.

After finding out just how small of a town Forks was, I told my family I didn't want to be open about my sexuality until I went to college. Rosalie eventually told Emmett and swore him to secrecy after he kept teasing me about how a lot of the girls thought I was incredibly hot for a shy brainiac. At first I was furious with Rose that she had told him, and that he was sure to tell all his vapid and judgmental friends…especially HIM. Emmett came to my room to talk to me and said that he would never betray the trust Rose gave him, even if they broke up, and that he hoped I would learn to trust him too.

"I happen to be keeping some pretty big secrets in my brain vault Jasper," he assured me.

I doubted any secrets he had been entrusted with were as big as mine, but he was so sincere and threatened a bear hug to seal the deal, so I caved.

"Hey, Jasper!" Emmett's booming voice drew me from my memories.

He never talks to me so publicly. I look up to see that not only is my whole table staring at me slack jawed at my being addressed by one of "them" but that all eyes from the center tables are on me as well, including HIS. I can see that his face is flushed and his jaw is locked as though he is embarrassed. I guess the fact that anyone from his table is talking to me is untenable to him. I realize I hadn't even answered Emmett yet.

"Uh, yeah," I respond in my most Mensa like way.

He continues addressing me with what seems like an oddly self satisfied smirk, "I just decided I'm having a party after the game tomorrow. You and your friends are invited. Are you in man?"

I was dumbstruck. Emmett was inviting not only me, but my whole table of misfits to his party after the biggest basketball game of the season. I'm dragged from my musing by the frantic begging whispers of my friends. They are seduced by the pull of the popularity vortex. In the interest of not losing the few friends I have, and the fact that Bella looks as though she may hyperventilate, I look back over at Emmett and feeling the heat of the emerald stare, I lose my train of thought.

"Uh, yeah," I mumble. Oh my God, I did not just say that again.

Yep. Mensa called and I'm banned for life. Emmett's laugh rumbles as the others at the table break out in guffaws; even HE tucks his head and snickers.

"Wow, Jasper those AP courses are really paying off for you." Emmett chokes out through his laughter.

I forget where I am for a moment as I see Rosalie laughing, and before I can stop myself I find the smart ass Jasper that those close to me know so well responding.

"Aw Emmett, and I hope those penis enlargement pills are paying off for you." I scoff at him.

I hear a high pitched squeal (of course it's Eric) right before the deadening silence hits me. I process that I have just teasingly insulted one of the "those that shall not be teased" not only inside the inner sanctum, but in front of the entire school. The moment of hushed silence lingers as I'm sure many are wondering what will be on my epithet. I contemplate the merits of running verses the probability of being lucky enough to drop dead right fucking now, when I can't help but look over to see HIS reaction. I expect the stare. I expect the penetrating burning look. I expect disgust or disdain. I definitely do not expect the dazzling smile that nearly takes my breath away. The spell is broken by the boom of Emmett's laughter followed by nervous and relieved titters and laughter of all those surrounding us that realize there will be no bloodshed today.

"Good one, Hale!" yells that douche Mike Newton.

Rosalie is laughing hard and hugging Emmett as he loudly offers to unleash the dragon and prove me wrong.

"Touché my man" he calls to me as he elbows Cullen and whispers something to him that makes him smile and duck his head.

Maybe he's telling him I'm not so bad after all, or maybe that he ought to turn down that smile before he blinds someone. Either way, I feel warm inside as the heat of that smile still resonates in my gut and settles somewhere around my cock.

The rest of the day passes quickly as I notice there seems to be two schools of thought on the "incident at lunch" as it is being referred to in hushed whispers. Those that are looking for any way to move up the social ladder seem to be making thinly veiled attempts at conversing with me in the hopes of latching on to my star if it is ascending. The other train of thought seems to be that Emmett just reacted so jovially in order to establish an alibi before he pounds me into an unrecognizable mound of goo. This group is avoiding me like the plague for fear of being collateral damage. I figure I won't be seeing Eric anytime soon.

Emmett comes over to our house after dinner and after enduring some teasing from my parents (God, Rose needs a filter) I hear him and Rose coming down the basement steps. I start to wonder if maybe the conspiracy group might be right and try to listen for anything that sounds like a hacksaw being dragged down with them. They enter the room weapon free and I take a sigh of relief.

"Worried I was coming to kill you huh," Emmett asks with a snicker.

"Of course not," I respond utterly unconvincingly. "Listen Emmett, I didn't mean…"

Emmett cuts me off.

"Jas, seriously, it was funny and I deserved it after I teased you. I'm just glad you finally showed everyone what a smart ass you can be."

Rose looks at me with gentle eyes.

"Jas, there is so much more to you than you are willing to expose. Maybe you are wrong about this plan of just suffering through this year. Maybe you should let people see you, the real you, all of you, and enjoy." She smirks at me, "Who knows, you might even get lucky."

"Rose…" Emmett grumbles at her and she flaps her hand dismissively at him.

"Whatever, I'm not saying anything specific, just in general." She replies.

A look passes between them that I don't get and quite frankly analyzing their looks doesn't interest me anyway since I might be unlucky enough to catch one of "those" looks and be scarred for life. I decide we better change topics.

"Hey man, thanks for inviting all my friends to the party after the game. I think Bella and Angela might have to be hospitalized though."

Emmett and Rosalie laugh and then Rose turns to me.

"They are pretty cool girls. Why don't you invite them over before the game and we can all ride together with Alice."

She can't be serious.

"Rose, I wasn't planning on going to the game." Rose and Emmett exchange a brief look.

"Of course you are going to the game, Emmett needs your support!" she exclaims. Emmett puts on the big bear pout.

"Yeah Jas, it's the least you can do after attacking my manhood."

"Oh for Christ's sake, fine" I answer exasperated.

Rose smiles smugly and cuddles into Emmet as she tells me I should probably go upstairs to finish my homework. Oh man, there's that look I was trying to avoid, yuk.

I sleep fitfully as images of green eyes and shiny teeth fill my dreams. It wouldn't be so bad if the dreams didn't keep focusing on those green eyes looking up at me from between my legs and those teeth weren't grazing along my shaft. I wake up achingly hard and curse the Cullen vortex that has once again sucked me in. Ow, I really shouldn't be thinking of sucking.

I go into the bathroom and decide I really better take care of this hard on if I want to function today. I stand under to pulsating water of the shower and trail my hands up and down my torso. Though I know I am nothing compared to HIM I feel the hard planes and toned muscles that come from my rigorous routine of swimming and cycling. Neither are team sports at Forks so few people even know that I actually am quite athletic and enter many weekend triathlon events. I imagine what HE would say if he were waiting for me at the finish line as I crossed ahead of the other competitors sweaty and victorious.

"Jasper, I want to give you your prize now" he would say as he leads me away from the crowded finish line.

I imagine us stepping into a really nice locker room with dark wood and padded benches (it's my fantasy after all and it does NOT have linoleum, plastic benches and metal lockers). We barely get in to door before Edward (I call him that in my fantasies) drops to his knees.

"God, you smell good all hot and sweaty. Are you hot Jasper?" he asks me in that sexy as fuck deep velvet voice of his.

He runs his nose along my length before he breathes deeply and mouths me through my shorts.

"Please Baby, I'm so hard for you" I tell him. In my dreams he is most definitely my baby.

He curls his fingers into the waistband of my shorts and pulls them down to pool at my shoes. He licks and nibbles his way up my legs until he reaches my aching and leaking cock.

"Shit Jasper, you're dripping for me baby."

I watch with awe as his tongue sneaks out from his mouth and captures a drop of precum as it slowly drips off of me. "God, you taste so good," he purrs. "Mmm…you are so sweet and salty. I want more."

With that, he wraps those perfect lips around to my swollen head and swirls his tongue around it.

"Fuck," I hiss as he chuckles and the vibrations tingle down to my balls.

He looks up at me through those thick, long lashes and I am once again caught by the emerald haze as he slowly takes my whole length down his throat and swallows. He continues to suck and swirl his tongue. It feels so good. I wonder if tongues can be double jointed because he seems to be everywhere at once.

I imagine him moaning as if he enjoys it as much as I do, as I furiously work my cock in my hand until I feel the tightening in my gut as my orgasm builds. I close my eyes as the pressure builds and I see that smile from the lunchroom; the one that I caused.

"Ugh," I groan as I paint the shower wall with cum. I continue stroking as I milk myself dry. Holy shit, I guess it's a good thing he is straight because if this is how hard I cum from fantasizing; I fear that if the real thing were ever actually to happen, I could seriously sprain something.

I make it to school after a frenzied morning and hope to make it through this day. I have an uneasy feeling in my stomach which some would call foreboding I guess, but I chalk it up to stale poptarts.

I have 2 AP courses with Cullen but he always comes in late and sits in the back so I never have an opportunity to watch him (just to see if he's being an arrogant prick of course). I am usually the first one into AP history since I love history and often take the time to look at some of Mr. Anderson's materials from his extensive travels before he became a teacher. I suspect he might be gay and am really curious, but he never talks about personal stuff. I had some last minute paperwork to drop off for some of my later college applications so I get to class right before it begins.

As I walk in, I notice Angela and Bella bouncing in their seats. I knew they were going to be a handful today after Rose got on the phone last night and invited Bella over personally. If that girl doesn't break her neck in her excitement, I'll be surprised. I go to plop in my chair by Bella when I feel the pull.

What the fuck? Why is he here…early?

I fight the urge to glance back as I feel the heat of his eyes on me. I am frozen in my spot as I try to quickly decipher if Cullen showing up to class early and without his entourage is a possible sign of the apocalypse. I snap out of my stupor as Bella and Angela start to babble at me excitedly and without taking breaths about plans for tonight. I'm pretty sure I hear something about hair paint and school colors before I try to induce hearing loss.

I realize I already dropped my book bag and bend over to grab my stuff. After my little situation this morning I dressed in a hurry and realize a little too late in my bend-over that these jeans are my low riders that I usually don't wear to school because…Oh shit…did…someone just…moan?

I drop in my seat and throw on my new black frame glasses as I put my back pack in my lap and instinctively look around the room. No one seems to be bleeding or writhing on the floor in pain. Slutty Jessica Stanley is looking strangely around the room and I can see Cullen staring down at his desk. I dig around for my notebook for a few moments and can't resist looking up from the bag in my lap one more time at HIM.

Jessica Stanley has now been elevated to dirty whore status as she leans toward Cullen talking to him with her arms crossed in an attempt to push her tits at him. I'm sure if she had access to a plate she would have plopped them right on it. Cullen looks away from her and our gazes meet.

His eyes widen briefly as he takes in my new glasses I think, and then they darken. I'm not sure how much time passes as I'm locked in his gaze trying to figure out what that look means, when I suddenly feel a hand on my shoulder.

"Jasper," I look up to see Mr. Anderson holding out a list of reference materials I had requested.

His eyes are not on me though, they are on Cullen and he's got this look of almost sympathy on his face. What the fuck is wrong with everyone lately? If anyone deserves sympathy right now it is not perfect life fucking Cullen…it is me. Hasn't anyone heard these two hens next to me talking about matching outfits for Christ's sake!

I feel the cooling loss of our shared moment and grab the paper from Mr. Anderson a little too energetically. I expect a "Tsk, tsk," or maybe a reproachful comment but instead I get a smirk. ANOTHER fucking smirk. Was there some memo I missed on smirking being the new black or something? I am so fucking tired of people smirking at me. And if one more person throws me that "I know something you don't know" type smirk I am going to kick some smirking ass.

Jesus is it really only 8:30!

I spend the remainder of the class focusing very hard on not focusing on the heat on my back and the piss in my mood. I can feel his eyes on me and I can't figure out why, and it is really starting to irritate me. It was always easy to read before; hate, disdain, or perhaps morbid fascination with how Rose and I could be related. But after yesterday, I thought it had cooled a smidge not like a fucking glacier melt, just a smidge; but HE is still burning a hole in me. It is just as intense, just as penetrating, but something seems different. It's like the Forks universe has spun off its axis.

I decide I am done with this nonverbal epic conversation I have been having with him for months. I want to know what his problem is. Ok, Emmett and Rose, you want me out of my shell, well look out because there could be shrapnel when this baby blows. I resolve to take the first opportunity I see to confront him.

Cullen always leaves last with a couple of the tier 2 hangers on that are in the class. I hear him tell them to go ahead and I decide now is my chance. I linger, sending Bella and Angela ahead. I can feel the heat; I know he is watching me, waiting to know why I am staying. I look up at Mr. Anderson's desk and catch him leaving the room and shutting the door. Does he think there is about to be a fight? Is he helping to facilitate a fight? Has he placed a bet on Cullen? I slowly turn and find that HE is much closer than I thought he would be.

The air is prickly and my whole body is tingling. I want to confront him and am not just a little concerned I might get my ass kicked. But this electricity in the air doesn't feel like the fight kind. I steel myself and look into his face. His eyes are still entrancing but they seem to actually be sparkling.

"Jasper," my name falls from his lips like a whispered promise.

My insides feel like they are all melty and gooey. Well, almost all of my insides are turning to goo; my cock however instantly becomes pure bone.

And did someone just moan again…and was that someone me? Fuck!

Cullen's eyes drift down to the erection that is quickly becoming so hard it seems to be fossilizing at this very moment. His eyes get wide and quickly come back to my face. I cringe in anticipation of the look that may redefine homicidal in my mind that is sure to be coming my way. I don't know exactly what a murderous look is, but somehow this doesn't feel like one.

This feels kind of…weird; still scary, but charged and electric, and warm, and…thrilling. I stand paralyzed waiting for the next moment to come He steps forward and looks like he is about to speak when the door flies open and Mike and Tyler bust in.

"Cullen let's go. You're late man. Coach wants to see you. Oh…,Hey… Whitlock…" Newton trails off as he tries to assess what is happening.

Well hell, good luck with that since I don't even know what is happening. Cullen continues to look at me for one long moment before he turns to grab his bag and shoves his hand in his pocket tilting to his side. I watch the action morbidly amused at the irony that I am doing the exact same kind of thing-only in an effort to try to adjust the dinosaur femur that seems to have taken residence in my pants, before every fucker in the room sees it.

Cullen turns clutching his back pack in front of him as I look up to his face and catch a flash of what looks like horror before the cool indifference shades slip down and he quickly strides out the door without even a backward glance. Holy shit. What the hell just happened? Am I in a fucking alien universe?

Jesus, is it really only 9:40?

The rest of the day passes in a blur as it seems everyone but me got the happy juice today. There is a tangible buzz throughout the school surrounding the game tonight. My piss poor mood has absolutely NOTHING to do with disappointment over the unfinished business from the morning. And it has ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to do with the fact that Cullen and company are not in the cafeteria today.

The team and their "select" guests always have a "nutritious" meal in the library on big game days. Seriously, if you have to go to the library for a nutritious meal then what the fuck are they serving us in the cafeteria?

I pose this exact question to my luncheon companions and am met with sighs and eye rolls as all of these traitors have sold their souls for one lousy party invite. Apparently Emmett has invited the entire senior class, and now everyone is riding the high of their "almost, nearly, sort-of, around, kinda the popular crowd" status. It seems not even the emo table is sharing in my downer mood today.

I very covertly and stealthily look for sight of HIM in the hallways all afternoon. It's weird because every other day he seems to always be within eye sight like a carrot fucking taunting the horse to drool for it. I long for and dread the next time I see him. Unless he has like 20/500 vision, he more than likely saw the wood I was sporting, and may or may not think he caught me looking at his crotch, and most definitely is probably asking Emmett to borrow that hacksaw. My head literally throbs from thinking about all the ways my life is fucked right now.

Jesus is it really FINALLY time to go home.

I crash into the house and go for a run and try to work out what the hell has happened today and the likelihood that I may have to leave town through some horny gay teenager idiot protection agency. Do they have one of those? If they don't, I clearly illustrate the fact that there is a big fucking need for one.

My mama always says that I'm like a hound dog on a scent when I'm trying to puzzle out a problem. I pull out all of my mad over thinking skills as I try to piece together every bit of minutiae that has contributed to this big bang implosion of my universe.

As I push my legs forward harder than I should I'm deeply lost in thought. I painstakingly review every action of Cullen and insert the bizarre behavior of everyone else; in particular Rosalie, Emmett, and even Mr. Anderson. I decide to imagine myself as HIM (yeah, I know, as if) and attribute a feeling (most likely hate and disgust) to back up the actions. I think about all of the stares and looks, the buzzing feeling, the prickly tingles, the cafeteria smile, the red face and Emmett's whispers, the classroom, the whisper of my name, the hand, the pocket, the back pack, the…

HOLY SWEET LITTLE BABY JESUS! It can't be. It just can't fucking be. As the thoughts start to swirl, a conclusion forms; a crazy, insane, I just might vomit if I'm wrong, and I'll definitely vomit if I'm right, conclusion starts to form. I realize I'm running like a lunatic escaping from the asylum and come to an explosive stop. I hunch over taking burning lungs full of air as if calm is something I can breathe in.

I am gasping for breath but no longer grasping for answers. I shudder as I realize my world isn't just shifting off its axis; my whole universe is spinning. And fuck if I'm not going to have a hand in its reallignment. Tonight I wii be the architect. I have my mission, and if all goes well, I just might have my man.

**A/N: **Chapter two to come soon if the angry mob doesn't storm my house first wielding their grammar books, spell check programs, and throwing copies of "Writing for dummies" at me.


End file.
